The Wrong Kind of Canvas
by JayJay96
Summary: AU version of Brian and Justin's season 3 reunification. My summaries suck. B/J


Disclaimer- I don't own QAF. But I'm trying. We'll see.

A/N: This takes place in Brian's office, right after Brian decides to take Justin back.

The Wrong Kind of Canvas

I watch as Justin closes the door to my office, feeling elated. I know I shouldn't be this happy that he's finally come to his senses, but I am. Not that I'd ever let him know it. He turns back and walks up to me. I pull his face towards mine viciously, hungrily. Our lips meet and I let out a harsh groan. It's been way too long, and I need him now.

I pull the rest of him to me, smashing his body against mine. He lets out a whimper, but not the good kind. One of pain. He gasps and pulls away. Confusion mingles with worry in my mind. "What's wrong?" I ask, careful to keep my tone nonchalant.

He shakes his head, as if to clear it, and replies, "Nothing. I'm fine."

"Okay…" I reply skeptically. I'll investigate more later. But now, all I want to do is kiss him again. So I do. "You're wearing far too many clothes." I whisper in his ear. I tug at his shirt, attempting to pull it off. Strangely, he resists, his face panicky. I give him a quizzical look.

"Its… uh…. cold in here. Can't I just leave it on?" He's lying through his teeth. I can tell. I can always tell. But why?

"It'll heat up." I answer, repeating the words I murmured to him that first night. I can't tell if he remembers or not. His eyes become pleading and his tone is rushed and strained. "Look, Brian, could you please just… leave it alone?" Leave _what _alone? I'm starting to freak out a little. But I keep it contained. I just reach for his shirt again, (thank god it's a button down,) and rip it off before he can protest further. Buttons fly everywhere, rebounding about the room, but I ignore them. My eyes are glued to Justin's chest, and I can't rip them away.

His body seems to have become a canvas for some vicious painter, one who delights in using an excess of blue, purple, and gray. Dashes of red are thrown in as well. I can't speak, my throat feels as if it's been cemented shut. I finally force my eyes up, to see his, but he glances away quickly. In the brief moment they meet, though, I see a mixture of shame and fear coursing through them.

"Justin…" I manage to choke out. My arm reaches automatically to touch his chest, and he flinches away. I close my eyes; I need to get some control."Justin, what the fuck." I state, trying to keep monotone. But I can't help the fierce edge pushing through my words. My thoughts race. Who did this? Why? How could he ha-

A name explodes in my mind, interrupting and drowning out all my other thoughts. Ethan. That fucking violinist that had the nerve to tell Justin he loved him. All I can see is red. All I can think of his punching Ethan over and over until any memory of ever even touching Justin is wiped away from his sick mind.

"Ethan." I say out loud. It's not a question, and it comes out more forcibly than I had intended. He whips his eyes to mine, and I can see in them that I am right. I clench I fist and take a deep breath. But through my anger at Ethan, there is a new anger, though much smaller in intensity.

"Justin, why the fuck did you let him do this? What's wrong with you, you shithead?" I cringe internally. I didn't really mean to attack him so harshly. But it's true, goddammit. What was he thinking?

He seems to quiver, and I notice then how thin he's gotten. His bones seem to just out, and everything about his just seems smaller, making him look even younger than he is.

"I-he-I" he stutters, searching for an answer. "He loved me." He says finally.

"That's not an answer, Justin!" I nearly yell, losing my cool a little. I point at his bruises. "Is that what you call love? Is it? Because if it is I sure as hell am glad that I don't actually believe in it!" He starts to cry, just barely. And something inside me breaks. My anger at him dissipates, leaving only the anger at Ethan, lurking in my mind, ready to spring up again. Replacing it is sadness and pain. Normally I would just shut them out. I don't like feeling pain, and I sure as hell don't like feeling sad. It's not what I do. But looking at Justin's distraught face, I can tell that he needs me. So for once, I'm not going to act like an asshole.

I pull him into a careful hug, trying not to hurt him. He buries his head in my shoulder, and only then does he let go. He sobs into my suit, and I try not to think about how much it cost. I just hold him, because I know that's what he needs.

I don't know how long we stay there, with him sobbing and me feeling helpless. But after what seems like hours, I say softly, "I'm going to kill him." It was mainly just to myself, speaking my thoughts out loud. But Justin pulls away slightly to look at me. His face is stained with tear tracks and still full of of pain and I flinch slightly. I don't deal with emotion very well.

"You can't!" he whispers, wide-eyed. "Brian, you can't!"

"I know I can't," I sigh. "But that doesn't mean I'm not going to make him suffer. Fucking psycho"

"No no no no!" He says, his voice rising in volume. "Brian, you can't go after him either! It'll just get you in trouble. It's not worth it!" What's not worth it? Him? Does he really think he's not worth a little danger?

"Justin, I can't just do nothing! He-" I swallow, unable to say the words. I manage to force them out; "He hurt you, Justin. He's not going to get away with it like Chris Hobbes did!"

"Brian, listen to me. I don't want you to go to jail, okay? Just let it go." I pinch the bridge of my nose, trying desperately to calm down.

"I can't fucking let it go. That's just not going to happen."

"Please, Brian? For me?" I look at him, his startling blue eyes wide and filled with tears, and my resolve cracks. I bury my desire to kill deep within me. Maybe in a few days, weeks, whatever, I'll make sure Ethan gets what he deserves. But right now, I'll just give Justin what he wants.

"Okay, Justin. Whatever. I'll let it go." For now. I pull him into my grasp again, and hold him tightly, as if he might break. He almost did. I shudder to think about what could've happened. I put it out of my mind. All that matters now is that he's back, he's safe, and he's in my arms again.


End file.
